Chapter 3: The Man In Charge
"Wheeler. Status report."
Mahone planted himself in front of the younger agent's desk. Wheeler adjusted the glasses on his nose in a feeble display of aggravation.
"There's been an unconfirmed sighting of Bagwell, headed south from Ness City, Kansas. We should have something more substantial within the hour …"
Putting a hand to his temple in order to stem his urge to throttle the man he was sure had called Buchanan on him, Mahone butted in, "Our priority. Once again – Scofield. Burrows. Status report on Scofield and Burrows."
"We've got nothing, sir," gritted Wheeler.
"And how many times has it been now, that something like this has happened?" Mahone barked out to the rest of the office, which was already quiet with dread. "We got a lead on Sucre. We knew he was rendezvousing with the brothers. I ordered his picture to be distributed in the area where he accessed the web site from the internet café."
He slammed his hand down on Wheeler's desk so abruptly that more than a few people jumped.
"A rocket scientist's intelligence isn't a prerequisite for passing on instructions as simple as that, do you people understand? But someone here obviously has the IQ of a snow cone, because here I am, just dying to find out who the hell it was, while we lose another con!"
"Alex."
Throughout his tirade, Mahone had just been waiting for the newcomer behind him to interrupt.
They were all like that in the beginning – brash and ignorant. He knew from experience how to put those types in their place and now, being in such a critical situation, it was essential that he established his dominance as quickly as possible.
He straightened his shoulders and rounded on Jack.
"Something you want, Bauer?" he hissed, moving forward so that their faces were inches apart.
Jack's eyes swiftly covered the room, taking in the various expressions of horror and admiration displayed by workers who were trying unsuccessfully to keep up the illusion of disinterest.
"Yeah," he said, returning his attention to Mahone's unblinking glare. "A desk."
There was a sudden burst of activity from all around as Mahone's face twitched, his gaze following Jack as the man brushed past him and stepped up to a large country-wide map plastered on the wall.
"Bagwell was born and raised in Ponca City, Oklahoma," Jack continued, running a hand between two dots on the map. "If he's been driving south from Ness City for, say, the last two days or so, he should be crossing the state border any time now. Your boy's going home. We need the specific address. Then we need to send patrol units."
Mahone felt like a particularly large and prickly golf ball was bouncing around in his head as Jack looked sideways at him with an expectant grimace.
"Give me a desk to write out information and make calls from, and I can have it done in less than ten minutes," he finished.
"Did you not hear that the sighting was unsubstantiated?" countered Mahone, sweeping a hand through his hair. "Maybe you didn't get the gist of what I was trying to point out half a minute ago, but the Bureau can't afford any more mistakes."
"Better to risk a blunder than allow an escapee to slip through the net," Jack said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. "Especially someone like Bagwell."
Seconds passed as Mahone made a mild feral noise in the back of his throat.
"Then I'll take care of him," he finally spat. "You just keep your focus on Scofield, and let me know immediately when you hear anything."
Mahone fully expected his fellow manhunt leader to lose his cool over the blatant bullying, but every one of Jack's tells remained completely placid. It unsettled Mahone more than anything Jack could've yelled, and the CTU'er knew it.
This was high quality mind screwing he was being subjected to right now.
The guy was good.
Covering his face over with a derisive smirk, Mahone spun away and stalked toward his office. The gesture wasn't enough to deter Jack from calling out to his retreating form.
"My desk, Alex?"
Grinding his teeth together, he replied, "Get Foley on it."
As a contrast to the roaring in his ears, the quiet click that emanated from Mahone's office door as he shut it seemed almost inappropriate. He noticed with little relief that all of the window blinds were already closed. With no intention whatsoever of starting anything on Bagwell, he slid into his chair.
Propped his elbows on his desk, and dropped his face into his hands.
Laughed at the insanity of it all.
He hadn't managed to make out any part of the conference room discussion before the CTU'er had caught his presence. However, Jack himself had easily set the boundary between them through the way he'd gazed up at Mahone. It had been done with extraordinary skill, and if it hadn't added another rung to Mahone's already persistent death knell, admiration would've been felt on his side of the battle.
Jack could see right through him. He wanted Mahone to know it. He wanted him to know that sooner or later, he'd uncover the unabridged version of the truth.
But worse was his own realisation from past arguments with Buchanan that the man had ordered Jack to do the complete opposite, and conceal his true intentions. The only reason someone hailing from the counter-terrorism field would go against a directive like that would be if they actually lived up to their reputations as expert character readers – and, as a consequence, figured from the start not to underestimate Mahone's brainpower.
Which meant Mahone had already lost the only trump card he could always rely on.
He sighed bitterly and raised his head. Was his computer being monitored by now? How much would it cost him to dig up a few things on Jack? There was a high probability his office had been bugged, too. As well as an off chance that a camera was trained on him at that very moment.
At least he could be certain his cell phone hadn't been hacked into. Bill Kim had made sure of that.
A knock came from the door. Pushing the computer keyboard away and assuming his most insouciant posture, Mahone called the person in.
It was Lang.
"Received this a minute ago, boss," she said, dropping a sheet of paper on her side of the desk so that Mahone had to stand and reach for it. "Two verifiable eyewitness accounts of Fernando Sucre filling up on gas at a petrol station in northern Texas."
Mahone devoured the page. "So he really is back from Mexico."
"Appears so. And since it was a sighting of an individual, it's safe to say Sucre's yet to make his scheduled appointment."
"Then he can still lead us straight to Scofield and Burrows. I want 15 minute updates."
"Yes, sir," said Lang, hurrying to the door.
"Wait."
The woman froze, before turning slowly back to Mahone. She clearly hadn't missed out on his outburst from earlier.
"This new guy – Jack Bauer," he began, licking his lips. "What can you tell me about him?"
Lang appeared – for lack of a better term – gobsmacked. If one rule was that Mahone only smiled twice a year in the office, the other was that he never gave any indication at all that he cared about any personnel in the building. Unless he was screaming at them for their utter incompetence.
He narrowed his eyes frustratedly.
"I'm going to be working with Bauer for quite some time, Agent Lang. All this is … is a harmless question."
"Uh …" Lang shrugged. "He's ex-CTU."
"Is it true what Bill Buchanan told me, that he once worked with Agent Paul Kellerman?"
This time, Lang put some real effort into her shrugging as she stood up a little straighter.
"I don't know. Why?"
"Because he was gracious enough to put a bullet in me last week?" Mahone snapped, not bothering to keep up the charade any longer. "The guy's former Secret Service, only he has no official record to speak of. I find it hard to believe he's ever even met Bauer."
"Well, whether he knows the brothers' associate or not, I'm sure he'll be a valuable asset to the team."
Mahone's lip curled. "15 minute updates."
"I'm on it," Lang sighed.
As soon as she left, Mahone sat back down, squeezing his eyes shut as a wave of exhaustion overtook him. Not even half a pen's worth of midazolam could save him. He hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, so how long did that make it? 40 hours?
40 hours of pain, and panic, and death.
It'd be so easy to just finish it.
The loud blaring of his cell phone splintered his thoughts, hurtling him out of his impromptu nap. As he reached for the device on his desk, he took his usual measure of bringing himself back to full consciousness by pinching his eyelids.
"Yeah," he said, raising the phone to his ear with his good arm.
"Alex. I just heard about the new lead on Bagwell."
Mahone didn't bother holding onto the strength he needed to keep his head up.
"You'll be pleased to know your office is bug-free, as well."
"I'm just starting to get curious about who's handing this information to you so quickly."
"You know what needs to be done," Kim's voice intoned.
"I do," replied Mahone, watching his fist clench and unclench of its own free will. "But the tip-off wasn't concrete …"
"Don't worry about its legitimacy. In five minutes, your office will receive a call that will give you more than enough permission to go down to Oklahoma. Bagwell has taken a family hostage. You need to take them out as well."
The cell phone slipped and nearly fell out of Mahone's hand.
"What?"
"Susan Hollander was a former fiancé of Bagwell's. She has two children. They all need to go."
Mahone's breath grew shallower as he sprang to his feet and paced in front of the office door.
"That wasn't a part of our deal!" he raged.
"Your deal with us concludes the minute you tie up all of the loose ends in this fiasco," replied Kim patiently. "But – if it helps …"
"What?" pressed Mahone.
"You managed to coerce Patoshik into jumping from the grain tower last week. Be inventive, Alex! Apply the same principles to Bagwell. Make him mad enough to do what you can't."
"There are people in place who'll take that as a last straw."
"Do we have to go through this again? As I recall, you had no problem shooting an unarmed teenager."
He felt as though he was going to be physically sick again. Peeking through the blinds at the action outside, Mahone sputtered hoarsely, "Do you expect me to still have a soul, when this is all done?"
"You'll have your family. And your reputation intact. That's what counts. Doesn't it, Alex?"
Mahone gripped his desk, head bowed. "Yes."
"Good. The call should come in any minute now."
The line went dead.
No sooner had Mahone snapped his cell shut and resisted the temptation to smash it against the wall, that Lang poked her head through the door with a grave expression and said, "You're needed outside, sir. It's Bagwell."
With the two latest leads on Sucre and the sociopath, the main office was even more crazed with activity. Jack was standing at a desk in the corner, nodding silently as he listened to what was no doubt a report from Oklahoma through a phone pressed against his ear and shoulder. In addition, he was signalling instructions to a half dozen agents surrounding him, all clamouring for his attention.
Mahone's despair was replaced by a flare of annoyance as the CTU'er caught his gaze and waved him over.
"We're going to Ponca," Jack said as he hung up, scribbling on a notepad. "A local cop dialled in. Bagwell's definitely there."
"We're not sending a closer unit?" inquired Mahone, half hoping Jack would give him a way out as the man gathered his things.
"Right before Bagwell stabbed the cop's partner in the neck, yelling was heard from the vehicle he's acquired," replied Jack, sweeping towards the building's exit and giving Mahone no choice but to tag behind. "He has three unidentified hostages. The officer pursued him to what looks to be his childhood home, and called for back-up …"
"Hold up a second," said Mahone forcefully.
Jack stopped as they reached the lobby. His eyes were clouded as he turned.
"Sucre's been spotted back in the country," Mahone went on. "It makes no sense for both of us to track Bagwell. You can take any standard issue vehicle you want."
"You want to gamble that trailing Sucre will nab you the brothers as well?"
"Scofield and Burrows are our top priority."
"Maybe it's time you prioritised the convict who's been connected to at least a dozen deaths to date," Jack retaliated in a darker voice. "Your job is to prevent civilian casualties. Not to stalk engineers and thieves who are off on a wild Presidential goose chase."
"So what's your job exactly, Bauer?"
Mahone made no effort to hide the challenge in his stance as Jack squared him off. For the first time, the other agent's eyes showed signs of vexation as they flitted around him to the side of the lobby. He nodded at a nearby, empty room. Mahone scowled as he followed him into the more private quarters.
"I would've thought you'd understand by now, Alex, the reason I've been tasked with this job," Jack murmured as Mahone shut the door.
Anger simmering beneath the surface, Mahone waited for Jack to elaborate. He was tired of the pain all of the thorns in his side were creating, and for once, he wanted one of them to come clean so he'd have one less to dance around.
"I have some experience when it comes to tactical manhunts," continued Jack. "Make no mistake, though. I'm not out to perpetuate the illusion I'm better at this than you are."
Mahone rolled his eyes. "Appreciate it."
"What I am here for is to bring you into line. You can start by reining your emotions in and falling back on common sense again. Tantrums in the office only serve to demoralize everyone."
"That's how I work, Jack," snarled Mahone, fathoming that their mind games were far from over. "I'm not responsible for catering to the needs of the more delicate employees of the Bureau."
"Except we're partners now. So stop taking what I say to you as advice, and start regarding it as directives to be followed."
"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."
Past the point of caring whether he had just given anything away, Mahone refused to flinch as Jack moved dangerously close.
"If you had any idea what I've gone through up to this point, you wouldn't think to say that. There are a thousand different measures I could utilise to get you to fall in line. But because I'm back doing a job requiring a shred of moral decency, the one I'd choose would be the one that'd make you thank me afterwards for being so solicitous – if you knew what I'm fully capable of doing."
The only time Mahone could recall feeling as nauseous at a threat as he did now was when Kellerman had first approached him. Even then, the ex-Secret Service agent had had a room full of witnesses and a gun to hide behind when he'd brought out the pictures of Pam and Cameron in a park playground.
Here, Jack needed only the steely tenor that Mahone had glimpsed earlier in the bathroom to get his point across. It was truly chilling.
He turned to the door in order to hide his failed attempt at a condescending sneer.
"It's on your head if we lose Sucre."
"Have faith in others to find your men, for a change," Jack said. "Also, I want your car keys."
"Excuse me?"
Mahone's hand tightened painfully around the doorknob as he waited for Jack to throw a knife in his back and finish the whole insulting routine.
"Your eyes are the size of pinpricks – you haven't slept in days. Some shut eye on the road would do you good."
"I don't need you to drive while you're babysitting me."
"Unless you want me to report the fountain pen narcotics keeping you in the game –" Jack held out a hand, face set in stone "– pass the keys."
After exchanging another silent death threat with the man, Mahone slapped his car keys into Jack's palm.
"That's better."
As he followed Jack out into the car park, Mahone weighed up whether a bullet or his bare hands would be more effective in the future.